


In Love With A Legacy

by LilicaDearest



Category: Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: M/M, University AU, and ong is a top star with a terrible secret, angst for miles, because why the heck not, daehwi is a woojin enthusiast, daniel undergoes a massive transformation, jihoon is a model student, jinyoung has an evil twin, kuanlin is the ace of the basketball varsity, slow-burn romance, they all have superpowers by the way, this was painful to write tbh, wanna one doesn't deserve this injustice, with fantastical elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-03-30 11:26:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13950582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilicaDearest/pseuds/LilicaDearest
Summary: Everything is not as it seems at Yusan university. Built at the base of a hill overlooking the sea, Yusan is home to six individuals with mysterious abilities.Seongwoo’s touch is healing, and Daniel’s mind is magic.The future unfolds in Daehwi’s dreams, and the past reveals itself in Jinyoung’s visions.And Jihoon has neither memory nor knowledge of his ability… as Kuanlin himself has stolen them away.None of them were meant to meet, much less to fall in love. But when one day they cross paths? Everything falls into chaos after that.





	1. ACT ZERO. LEGACY

**Jihoon** dislikes being around other people. People kind of dislike being around him too, to be honest. The only person he can stand to even be around is his cousin, Ha Sungwoon, who— as it happens— is the only person in possession of the knowledge that may lead him to the whereabouts of his parents… and to the reason as to why they were killed.

 **Kuanlin** , on the other hand, has loved Jihoon in secret since they were little, keeping him safe from a distance in the midst of his own overwhelming popularity. The runaway son of a fallen criminal, Kuanlin has led most of his life alone, with only himself and his ability to depend on.  The only thing he never wants to happen? For Park Jihoon to finally remember him.

 **Daehwi** is in love with his best friend, Park Woojin. To help in the matter of attracting Woojin’s attention, he enlists the help of his roommate, Bae Soonyoung, who agrees in exchange for predictions on his fortunes. Little does Daehwi know that Soonyoung has irresponsibly shirked his duties, and has forced his aloof twin brother into filling up for him in the meantime.

 **Jinyoung** , of course, has little interest in Daehwi, or in anyone whose name isn’t ‘Lee Saeran’ for that matter. Saeran however, is engaged to marry someone else—a model, an actor, and a budding heir to immense wealth by the name of Ong Seongwoo. But when he sees accidentally into the past of Saeran’s little brother Daehwi, he begins to realize Daehwi may be the only chance he has left of getting to know Saeran before she leaves him forever.

 **Seongwoo** is a top star in the making. An award-winning actor at the tender age of seven, the road ahead of him, it seems, is paved entirely with roses. But Seongwoo is hiding a terrible secret, and when by chance he meets a mysterious stranger masked as the Angel of Death, Seongwoo will be forced into a perilous choice: To pretend as if nothing has changed, or to protect his newfound angel… even if it ultimately kills him.

And **Daniel** is an Angel of Death, fallen in love with a demon in red. He met the dazzling stranger at the masquerade ball, and hasn’t the slightest clue what his name is, or if they are destined to meet again. But Daniel has bigger problems: The Kang and Ong clans have gone head-to-head as conglomerate families for generations… and as the only son, it is Daniel’s duty to ensure his family rises to the top.

All six of them are entangled in a web of lies and mysteries... and when they find out their abilities are to lead them into danger, they will do everything in their power to keep one another safe.

Or else, they die trying.

 

***

 **Legacy** /ˈleɡəsē/ _noun_. Something transmitted or received from an ancestor or predecessor; a result of events that happened in the past.

***

PROLOGUE

The air is chilly in frosty November.

The Alchemist sits upon his throne, alone inside a massive chamber at the castle on the hill. His fingers tap in rhythmic, hypnotic motions against the iron hand rest, one leg propped onto a plush leather stool in front of him, its legs wrought in gold glinting against the eerie cast of moonlight.

He embraces the heavy silence, as if to lull himself into sleep, into rest he hasn’t had in almost five hundred years.

“I tire,” he whispers to himself. “Of having to wait so very long for my meal.”

 _How long has it been since I’ve fed?_ He thinks.

_A week? Perhaps two?_

His fingers tremble, not because of the biting cold nipping at his skin, but because of restless apprehension in awaiting his prey.

 _I hope it’s a child,_ he thinks. _They do have the greatest amount of time left to live._

He smiles, thin-lipped. _The greatest amount of time left for me to divest them of._

As if on cue, the doors to his chamber force open, stones thudding together in worrisome echoes.

“I’ve arrived, milord,” a shaky voice speaks at the entrance, cutting through the miasma of silence.

The fear in his inflection does not escape the Alchemist.

“Come,” he whispers. “I hunger.”

His servant’s footsteps are deliberate. Soundless, almost. But the anguished cries of his prisoner are not.

“Spare me,” the prisoner begs. “I have a family. My children, they—“

“It is a shame my servant brought you, and not your children.”

His prisoner no longer speaks after that.

“Tell me, young man,” the Alchemist says, looking evenly into eyes that quaver visibly as he speaks. “What is your name?”

“N-nam,” he croaks. “Nam Minwoo.”

“And where might you be from, Minwoo- _ssi_?”

“I’m… I’m a professor. I live… I live in Apgujeong with my wife and… f-four children.”

“Apgujeong,” he reminisces. “Once a home to the pavilion of a high-ranking official during my time. Shame I didn’t come for his throat when I had the chance. Should I make up for that, Minwoo- _ssi_?”

Minwoo nods, eyes blank. Devoid of life before his impending doom.

“You don’t mean that,” he smiles. “You say it only for you know I am about to kill you.”

“P-please don’t,” he begs once more. “I… I have the information.”

The Alchemist’s ears perk up. “Oh?”

Minwoo nods, vigorously, _desperately_ , struggling in futile effort out of his handcuffs. “The child you’re looking for. I know where he is.”

“Excellent,” the Alchemist exclaims, throwing him a bone. “I’ll give you a chance, then.”

He sweeps a hand in an outwards arc, gesturing for his captive to continue.

“His name is Park… Park Jihoon,” he whispers. “At present a junior at Yusan University. He majors in Chemistry, specializing further in Gastronomic Science. He… he’s a student in one of my classes.”

 “Chemistry,” the Alchemist repeats. “He sure does take after his father. Attuned only to the finest, most noble of disciplines.”

His watchful gaze rests upon Minwoo, whose entire being stills upon the barest of contact.

“And how am I to confirm the validity of your claims?” he probes. “Surely, you don’t suppose yourself the first to have volunteered information this striking.”

“I saw him, milord,” his servant interrupts. “With my own two eyes. Park Jihoon. And he… he looks exactly like…”

_Like his father._

The Alchemist lets loose a rumble, low in his throat.

“Brilliant,” he whispers. “Finally… the wheels of fate have turned on their axes. A decade in waiting made worth it at last.”

His fingers reach out, closing gently upon Nam Minwoo’s throat.

“I did revile that official in Apgujeong,” he muses. “Were it not for him, I would not have been forced so shamefully into hiding.”

 _Let me pay him back then,_ he thinks.

_The only way I know how._

“You are dismissed, Minwoo- _ssi_ ,” he whispers. His hand presses into delicate skin, veins pulsating with power.

Draining his victim of life.

Minwoo’s eyes widen in delayed recognition, mouth forcing open, writhing noiselessly in pain.

“I thank you,” the Alchemist whispers. “For your service.”

The body collapses onto the floor with a thud.

He turns to his servant, peering at him languorously. “You never fail to deliver, child,” he says. “Soonyoung, is it?”

His servant nods eagerly, eyes glinting with small traces of victory. “Yes, milord,” he replies. “Bae Soonyoung.”

“I have a plan for you yet, Soonyoung-ah,” he smiles, gesturing for the wispy youngster to approach. “A reward beyond your wildest of dreams.”

“Yes, milord,” he whispers, letting the Alchemist stroke unruly strands of golden hair. “You are more than generous, and my loyalty is yours. Always.”

“Now tell me,” he cooes, forcing Soonyoung’s chin upwards with his index finger. “How may I _finally_ come to meet Park Jihoon?”

 ~PROLOGUE END~


	2. ACT ONE. HIRAETH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiraeth. /'heer-eye-th'/. A longing for a home you can no longer return to, or one that was never yours.

 

The evergreen forest comes alive at the first blush of dawn.

Hand in hand, two ragtag orphan boys run for their lives through the underbrush, hearts pounding rhythmically in startling rushes of adrenaline.

Every so often, one of them will trip on snarls of shrubbery littered throughout the forest floor, scraping his skin raw at the knees. The fifth instance over, he cries out in anguish.

“Kuanlin-ah,” he sobs. “I can’t… I can’t possibly go any further. I’m tired, and my feet hurt, and I… I want to go _home_.”

He buries his face in both hands, dirtied with grime and smeared in blood.

The blood is not his, and it pains him to know this.

His companion skids to a halt and helps him patiently to his feet, looking restlessly over his shoulder for any signs of their pursuer.

“We’re almost there, Jihoon-ah,” he whispers. “A couple strides more and we’ll make it to the clearing.”

Jihoon refuses to budge, utterly spent and expended of energy. Instead of forcing him into an upright position, Kuanlin stoops before him instead, hoisting both arms over his shoulder and both feet on either side of his waist.

“Rest now,” he beckons. “I’ll take it from here.”

Upon his back, Kuanlin carries Jihoon, trudging silently through the desolate thicket. His head turns towards the skies, squinting at the blinding rays of sunlight peeking eagerly through dense foliage.

The night has come and gone, and with it, their only hope for cover.

“Where are we going, Kuanlin-ah?” Jihoon whispers, tickling Kuanlin’s nape with his soft respirations.

“Home,” he whispers back. “We’re going home.”

Moments later, they make it onto the clearing, a vast expanse of arable land stretching outwards for miles in either direction. Whereas the plains are lush and matted with turf, a long-winded patch of barren land straight ahead snakes through the flatlands and towards the horizon, paving the way uphill.

_Uphill?_ He wonders. _This isn’t right. This path through the woodlands… was meant to lead us to the coastline and out onto the sea._

“Where are we?” he ponders aloud, crouching forwards to allow Jihoon’s descent from his perch.

“Are we lost?” Jihoon adds, studying the unfamiliar vista before them. “I thought Dowoon- _ahjusshi_ agreed to a rendezvous at the harbour.”

“He did,” Kuanlin confirms, puzzling over where it might’ve been that he’d taken the wrong turn.

_Impossible,_ he thinks. _The path due north was the only one._

“Kuanlin-ah,” Jihoon whispers, interrupting his inner monologue. “Look.”

Kuanlin follows Jihoon’s line of sight, latent anxiety kicking in all at once. His gaze comes to rest upon the crest of the hill, where a medieval castle—entrenched and fortified—sits forbiddingly in the faraway distance.

“No,” Kuanlin murmurs, immobilizing fear upending his senses. “No…”

Jihoon reaches for him, tiptoeing slightly to wrap both arms around his neck.

They’re trembling, and yet he finds the strength enough to offer Kuanlin what little courage he has left to give.

“Kuanlin-ah,” he whispers. “We’ve made it. This is where it ends.”

“Don’t you say that, Park Jihoon,” Kuanlin demands, engulfing him in a fierce embrace. “Don’t you _dare_ even say that.”

_And don’t you dare leave._

_Not again._

“If by chance,” Jihoon carries on, resting his weary head upon the base of Kuanlin’s shoulder. “If by chance you make it out alive, then know this: one day soon, in this life, or the next… I’ll find you. No matter what. And then I’ll come to you, give you everything—joy, comfort, kisses goodnight…”

His hands fist in Kuanlin’s shirt, bloodied palms staining the pristine, ivory fabric. Kuanlin takes them in his, kisses them one by one.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “In this life, I gave you pain, and nothing else.”

Jihoon shakes his head slightly, pressing Kuanlin’s right hand ever-so gently against his chest.

Where his heart pulsed in steady measures, brimming earnestly with life.

“Hear that?” Jihoon says, staring intently into both of his eyes. “It beats for you.”

His mouth pulls at the corners into the makings of a smile, as if to allay Kuanlin’s fears and say, _it’s alright. I’ll be just fine._

And yet his eyes, open windows into the truth to his soul, betray a hopeless melancholy Kuanlin can do little else than wish away.

“If only,” Jihoon whispers, tears cascading in rivulets down the sides of his face. “If only it could beat for just a moment more.”

 “Don’t,” Kuanlin pleads, tightening his grip on both of Jihoon’s wrists. “You can’t… this isn’t…”

“Remember me, Kuanlin-ah,” he says. “And remember how I loved you.”

“Ji-Jihoon-ah…” Kuanlin begins.

He barely has time enough to gather his bearings, time enough to think, to speak, say his final goodbyes… before Jihoon is held at knifepoint from behind, blades digging into the skin at his throat.

Slicing it mercilessly open.

***

 

Kuanlin wakes up with a start.

“Nightmares, again?” his roommate inquires, jogging over to his bedside to offer him a glass of lukewarm water. Kuanlin takes it, downing its contents in one go.

“I take it you’ve dreamt of the exact same one.”

Kuanlin peers at him, brows knitting together in reluctant suspicion. “How come you know that?”

His roommate cocks his head sideways, gesturing towards the area in Kuanlin’s anatomy his dominant hand still rests upon, shielding it reflexively in response to stimuli developed by his restless subconscious.

_His throat._

“You know,” his roommate mumbles. “I _am_ getting tired of that recurring jungle chase your psyche has on playback. Why a forest? Why a castle on the hill? Why _Park Jihoon?_ Ten years in the making, and here I am still waiting on the sequel.”

“Not even a _minute_ out of my slumber,” Kuanlin grumbles. “And I already have you cracking jokes at my expense. Thanks, Jaehwan-hyung.”

“You do know I say these things to enliven the atmosphere, right?” Jaehwan says, ruffling Kuanlin’s mop of unruly bed-hair. “Take care of yourself, kid. Catch up on some z’s. Those bags under your eyes… what even _are_ those?”

“A decade’s worth of sleep lost to nightmares,” Kuanlin replies. “Why? Something the matter?”

“Don’t quote me on this,” Jaehwan says. “But I’m almost certain the concealment of those monstrosities will require of mankind a breakthrough in the field of cosmetics.”

Kuanlin grimaces at him, offended.

“Hook me up with a Chemistry major, then,” he mutters. “Tell them I’m down for a collaboration.”

“I know of one,” Jaehwan grins. “Park Jihoon.”

Something dreadful and sharp stabs at Kuanlin’s insides, embedding itself deep within him.

“Haha,” he deadpans. “Very funny.”

“Hey, Kuanlin-ah,” Jaehwan asks. “You don’t think those dreams of yours… are connected somehow to your history with Jihoon, do you? That night at the Promise Tree, when you made your escape and left the orphanage for good.”

“I don’t think so,” Kuanlin shakes his head. He pulls his shirt up and over his head, tossing it onto the floor. “In my dreams… _he_ appears. And neither Jihoon nor I have ever met him before.”

“And you never will,” Jaehwan says. “Trust me.”

“That,” Kuanlin says, scrambling out of bed. “Remains to be seen. I’m not discounting the possibility, no matter how negligent.”

He plods over to his closet, rummaging lazily through its contents.

“You don’t _actually_ believe he exists, do you?” Jaehwan asks. “Because he doesn’t, this _Alchemist_ character. He’s a myth.”

“And what if he isn’t?” Kuanlin challenges. He detaches a jersey from its hanger, putting it leisurely on. “What if… what if my nightmares are meant to foreshadow his return?”

“After _five hundred_ years in hiding?” Jaehwan exclaims, incredulous. “Kid, this Alchemist’s supposed to have been around since the _Joseon_ Dynasty. If he’s still around and traipsing about in the streets, we might as well just consider him immortal.”

“Don’t you believe in that? Immortality?” Kuanlin asks. He makes his way to the kitchen, scouring the fridge for his jug of water. “Should the legends hold true, he was after immortality in the first place. And in his pursuit of eternal youth, he tampered with nature through alchemy, heavily manipulated the laws of the earth… by virtue of an ambition for his legacy to last forever.”

He touches the spout of the jug to his mouth, drinking thirstily from its contents.

“And in the process of making that happen,” he adds, wiping away the moisture on his lips with his sleeve. “He unleashed our abilities into the world by accident, hence the name we go by today: _Legacy_.”

He settles the jug onto the counter, as if to rest his case.

“To see is to believe kid,” Jaehwan shrugs, entirely distrustful. “To see is to believe.”

“That’s discriminatory against blind people,” Kuanlin huffs. “How are you to explain away our existence, then? These powers we were never meant to carry?”

“Beats me,” Jaehwan shrugs. “But if I were to explain, I’d do it with empirical evidence.”

 “Sounds like you’re afraid of admitting the Alchemist might still be among us.”

“And maybe I am,” Jaehwan says. “Maybe I _don’t_ want him to exist. And _maybe_ , it’s because the castle he lives in— _should the legends hold true_ —is hedged by a hundred fifty-foot pikes upon which he mounts the severed heads of his enemies.”

Kuanlin frowns, willing the grisly notion away.

“He’s a _scientist_ , hyung,” Kuanlin insists. “Not Vlad the Impaler. Don’t you ever wonder about our origins, too?”

“Why ask me? Aren’t you supposed to be the logician here?” Jaehwan demands. “You major in _Applied Mathematics_ , of all things.”

“I also,” Kuanlin counters. “Happen to have the ability of forcing memory loss upon other people. And you’re a telepath, hyung. Even René Descartes had not the means enough to illustrate the phenomenon. And that guy was a legend.”

“That guy drew a bunch of lines on papyrus and assigned numbers to them. Big deal.”

“You referring to the Cartesian Plane?” Kuanlin blinked. “That’s the fundamental coordinate system in mathematics! It’s how we _graph_ everything!”

“Same difference, nerd.”

“And the _Egyptians_ used papyrus,” Kuanlin mutters. “Did you flunk out on Geography, too?”

“What I’m getting at here,” Jaehwan says, voice rising steadily in pitch. “Is that you shouldn’t fret about this Alchemist entity and think instead of things with greater relevance. Basketball practice, for example. That you were supposed to attend to an hour ago.”

Kuanlin’s jaw slackens in delayed recognition, head pivoting sideways to face the clock.

“SHIT!” he curses, scrambling for his muddled belongings. “Why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

“I just did,” Jaehwan says. “You’re welcome.”

Kuanlin actively ignores him this time, chucking towels, socks, and mobile devices into his duffel bag, as if to use them for free-throw practice instead. He sharply recalls tomorrow’s schedule: the single most important game he’s ever played in his career, and a post-game interview with Sports One, the single most reputable publication company in Seoul, focusing primarily on athletics at the collegiate and professional levels alike. For the first time in seventeen years, Yusan’s basketball team has made it into the seasonal play-offs, and are now at the do-or-die match of their semi-finals run against the defending champions themselves.

And Lai Kuanlin—Small Forward, Ace, and Rookie of the Year—is expected both by the public and the media to lead his team straight through to victory.

And that is _precisely_ why practice is crucial.

He gathers the change of clothes splayed at the foot of his bed, tossing them into his bag. He stares at the kitchen for a moment, wondering if he should stop awhile for breakfast, instead of making a beeline for the gym.

His stomach grumbles lightly, hinting at the former.

“I’m leaving, hyung,” he decides against it. “Guess I’ll see you around.”

“Best of luck to you, kid,” Jaehwan exclaims. “Don’t get yourself injured. And don’t go around relieving every problematic kid around the block of their memories.”

Kuanlin looks over his shoulder to glower at him. “And when have I ever done that?”

“Remember Joo Haknyeon?” Jaehwan begins. “You stole away the memories he had of his ex-girlfriend, and now he thinks he’s gone batshit crazy for having an urge to cry every time ‘Always’ plays on the radio, because guess what? _It was their theme song_.”

“That happened once,” Kuanlin frowns. “I already apologized, even though I received little less than a blank stare in response.”

“As for Yoo Seonho,” Jaehwan carries on. “You wiped his memory clean of his favourite Highlight song. Thirty minutes later, he’s already rediscovered it and relearnt the lyrics, and to this day, he’s still jamming out to Doojoon’s parts at five in the ass-crack of dawn.”

“But I—“

“And then!” Jaehwan interrupts.  “We have _me._ Remember that memory you swiped last time? It was…hmm.  What was it again? Oh, right. _I can’t remember_.”

Kuanlin grimaces, recalling in full detail Jaehwan’s heartfelt confession of love, and Hwang Minhyun’s subsequent rejection five seconds later.

“You don’t remember, huh?” Kuanlin whispers. “Well, neither do I.”

 

***

 

Kuanlin’s daily routine is simple: drag himself out of bed, have a bowl of cereal without checking the expiration date, jog to practice, head to the library—less to study than to catch up on sleep—and then, once all activity culminates on-campus, run shortly home at the prelude of sunset.

Rinse, and repeat.

Not infrequently, however, will small inconsistencies arise in his agenda, and more often than not, these deviations will ascribe themselves to Park Jihoon himself. Kuanlin may have volunteered the removal of his existence from Jihoon’s troubled past, but in no way does that mean he’s anywhere near willing to incapacitate himself where Park Jihoon’s safety is concerned. Hence, on the off-chance that their walks to or from class will coincide, Kuanlin will tail him surreptitiously from a distance, taking the least-known shortcut to school even though he _much_ prefers the long way around.

Most of the time, nothing out of the ordinary happens.

As luck will have it, however, today marks an adverse exception.

A student twice Jihoon’s size has him cornered against the wall, fists in Jihoon’s collar, forcing him on his toes in order not to choke.

“Look here, smart-ass,” Kuanlin overhears the student say. “I don’t _care_ about your lousy explanation. If you valued your life, you should have known better than to report me to the authorities.”

“You cheated on your midterms exam,” Jihoon says impassively. “In blatant violation of the Magna Carta. It’s written _explicitly_ in the Student Handbook, which, by the way, you should’ve already read by now. Unless, of course, you’re as illiterate as you are daft.”

“You little—“the student howls. Kuanlin’s ears perk up, fraught with apprehension. “My girlfriend broke up with me over that!”

Kuanlin observes from the sidelines, obscured partly from view. From his vantage point, he can see Jihoon’s placid expression, entirely unperturbed by the possibility of getting himself beaten senseless at an abandoned back alley.

“How is that my fault?” Jihoon smiles. “At least your ex-girlfriend was smart enough to ditch you.”

At this very moment, the student loses his cool. His right hand flies into the air, poising to strike. In the blink of an eye, Kuanlin launches himself out of hiding and into the open, making a barricade of himself between Jihoon’s jaw and his assailant’s fist.

It lands on his forearm instead, violent enough to knock him slightly backwards. He stands his ground, doing his level best not to crush Jihoon by accident.

“Go away,” he demands. “You’re a coward for picking on someone half your size.”

“Who the hell are you?” the student howls, forceful enough for his spit to land on Kuanlin’s cheekbones.

“Need I repeat myself?” Kuanlin says, wiping the spittle away.

“I said,” he repeats himself. “Go _the_ _fuck_ away before I snap your neck sideways.”

“You arrogant piece of shit,” the student exclaims, gritting his teeth in a show of menace. “You’ll pay for that.”

His right fist sails backwards once more, gathering momentum, but this time around Kuanlin beats him to the punch.

_Literally._

Kuanlin’s fist collides with his jawbone with a sickening crunch.

The student collapses onto the cement, squirming in pain.

Kuanlin dips to his knees, stooping to his level. He reaches outwards, cupping the student’s chin, forcing eye-contact between them.

“ _Look at me_ ,” he whispers. “ _And listen carefully. I will release you from your stupor, and then you will forget. All of this. Your anger, Park Jihoon… and above all else, me_.”

The student stares at him blankly, perplexed and unblinking.

And then, he nods.

Kuanlin frees him from his grip, rising slowly to his feet.

For a moment, the student sits there in silence.

“Where am I?” he speaks up, after what seems like a thousand eternities. “And why… why am I tasting blood in my mouth?”

“You split your lip,” Kuanlin offers, aware of Jihoon’s steady presence behind him.

_He already knows I’m a liar._

“You may have hit the wall and hurt yourself,” he continues. “Might be why you’re in a daze, at the moment.”

The student sits himself up, rubbing his temple. “I… I don’t remember a thing.”

“It’s alright,” Kuanlin shrugs. “That happens sometimes. Don’t overwork yourself.”

“Oh,” the student whispers. “Uhh, thanks… I guess.”

He stumbles past both of them, and Kuanlin watches him from behind until he’s finally out of sight.

“You alright?” Kuanlin asks, turning towards Jihoon. He steps forwards, heart pounding in his chest.

_I haven’t been this close to him in thirteen years._

“He didn’t scratch you anywhere?”

“Excuse me, but…” Jihoon begins, straightening his lopsided spectacles. “What is it that you want? And why have you been following me around?”

“I take this shortcut to school, too,” Kuanlin lies. “And as for my identity… that is hardly of any importance.”

“I think it is,” Jihoon argues. “I deserve to know why a character so distinguished is stalking me.”

Kuanlin stills, breath hitching in his throat.

_Has he known?_ He thinks in alarm. _This entire time?_

“You think I haven’t noticed?” Jihoon exclaims. “I’m alone ninety-nine percent of the time, and that renders me hyper-sensitive to the rare moments during which the remaining percentage should occur.”

Kuanlin stares at him, unable to formulate an excuse on the fly.

“So tell me,” Jihoon continues. “What are you here for? And if you aren’t going to tell me that, then do me a favour and get out of my life. _For good_.”

Kuanlin winces, hurt by the vehemence in Jihoon’s ultimatum.

_If only you knew,_ Kuanlin thinks. _That once upon a time, I_ was _in your life._

_And once upon a time, I touched you with these hands of mine, looked into your eyes, and then made you forget._

_The bliss, the suffering, the blood on your hands._

_The destruction. The havoc. Wrought in your name._

_Everything._

He mustered the courage enough to look Jihoon in the eye, reckless and defiant.

_So don’t you dare remember me, Park Jihoon._

_For the moment I re-enter into your life is the moment you are to pay for your crimes._

“This is usually the part,” Kuanlin whispers.  “Where people thank me for stepping in to save them. This time around… well, I guess not.”

“I’d thank you,” Jihoon says. “But my thanks are reserved only for those I can trust, or believe in. As for you… you fit neither criteria, and as such deserve not gratitude, but suspicion.”

“I’m sorry,” Kuanlin says, haplessly shaking his head. “But as for my identity… I’d rather you hated me than remembered I exist.”

_A second time over,_ he thinks. _I can do it a second time over._

_In order to protect you._

_That’s all that really matters._

He steels himself, looking into Jihoon’s irises as if to bleed out their colour.

“ _Look at me_ ,” he whispers, resting both hands on Jihoon’s shoulders. “ _And listen carefully. I will release you from your stupor, and then you will forget. Everything that has transpired today. The confrontation, the suspicion.._. _above all else, me._   _From the moment you noticed my presence, to the moment I kept you safe. All of it._ ”

The entire time, Jihoon holds his gaze, and Kuanlin gazes at him wordlessly back. Waiting for confirmation. A nod, a thumbs-up… anything.

Instead, Jihoon glares at him bitterly in response.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” he demands, swatting Kuanlin’s hands away. “Don’t touch me. It’s disgusting.”

Kuanlin's heart stops for a moment, as if time itself has paused mid-flow.

“What… what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re a creep,” Jihoon exclaims. “And still you blatantly _refuse_ upon disclosing your intentions, which makes all of this a hundred times worse.”

“You… you remember me?” Kuanlin stammers. “But just then, I—“

“Am I an amnesiac?” Jihoon asks, tearing through the gossamer strands of Kuanlin’s brittle composure. “ _Of course_ I remember you. _Lai Kuanlin."_

 

_~ACT ONE END~_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanna One's comeback is tomorrow, so to prepare for that I decided to write a new chapter for this story! I know I promised all three couples per chapter, but I realize it's much more stressful that way so I'll break down the original chapters into three bite-sized ones instead. Don't worry, I plan on updating three days in succession, so expect Jinhwi tomorrow and Ongniel the day after that!
> 
> That being said... welcome to Chapter 1 of my brand new story! It's a little different from anything I've ever attempted before, and for that reason alone I'm quite proud of this work~ This is meant to be dark, angsty, and slow-going where romance is concerned (at least for Panwink!) so if you're expecting them to get together soon... that's not what's about to happen D: Kuanlin and Jihoon share a troubled, and rather tragic past as children, and I'll be revealing the details of that as the story progresses. The same goes for Jihoon's abilities, whch out of the six main characters is the only one you don't already know. But I hope you liked this story! Do tell me what you think (theories are very much welcome, too!) 
> 
> And by the way, feel free to yell at me on Twitter(@lilicadearest) because I LOVE getting to know my readers. This past week, I've gotten to talk to lots of people, and I'm very thankful for that! Shoutout to Raina-unnie, Jaera-unnie, Jopie-unnie, Fid-unnie, Nish-unnie (?), Maimai, Abi, Max, Selina, Khadija, and my dearest little dongsaeng Yuna (Unnie loves you~) 
> 
> I hope to see you guys in Chapter 2, or if not... in Chapter 19 of my other work (updates the week after next!) Thanks for stopping by, dearest reader. You're amazing, I hope you know that. Let's all unite tomorrow and work hard to stream for Wanna One <3


	3. ACT TWO. ENOUEMENT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enouement. /'eh-now-ment'/. The bittersweetness of arriving at the future, seeing how things turn out, but not being able to tell your past self.

 

Lee Saeran is twenty minutes late.

This should no longer be an issue, given her lamentable inclination towards habitual tardiness. Jinyoung, however, has yet to repress idle expectations of Saeran caring for his time enough to care for how long it is she’s kept him waiting.

“That’s the twenty- _first_ minute I’ve wasted and am never getting back,” Jinyoung grumbles to himself. “Thanks, Saeran-ah. I knew I could count on you and your lack of common courtesy.”

As if on cue, Jinyoung espies Saeran’s figure in the distance, racing clumsily towards him as fast her feet can carry her.

“Soonyoung-ah!” she exclaims, her way of address disarming him temporarily. “There you are.”

_I have yet to get used to that name,_ Jinyoung thinks. _Or, to the chilling reality that I’ve hijacked someone else’s identity._

This pains Jinyoung, despite knowing he’s had little choice in the matter. Between impersonating Soonyoung and risking premature exposure, he’d opt for the former no matter the circumstance.

Blood is thicker than water, after all.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” Saeran says, resting both hands on either knee, still gasping for air. “I circled the block thrice in succession, and I’ve nearly gotten myself run over by a pickup truck.”

Jinyoung is beyond delighted to have known that Saeran did not, in fact, mean to waste his time.

Having put herself at risk, however, was a thousand times more worrisome than anything.

“Look to either side of you,” he says softly. “Before crossing the road. You should know that by now.”

Saeran blinks at him for a moment, as if to ascertain the proper response.

After a moment, she smiles, and the look on her face melts Jinyoung’s insides spontaneously.

_How are you this beautiful?_ He thinks.

_And why am I this hurt to have to meet you like this?_

_Now that you’re someone else’s._

_And now that I’m someone else._

“For how long, exactly?” Jinyoung inquires.

“How long what?”

“How long have you been looking for me.”

“Twenty minutes?” Saeran responds, sparing her timepiece a cursory glance. “Give or take.”

“Good girl,” Jinyoung says, unable to resist a half-smile. He reaches out to Saeran, who stills upon contact. Golden locks of hair tumble forwards, the alluring scent of her perfume infused with bergamot and musk, cashmere wood and morning sunshine.

Jinyoung discovers he has difficulties breathing, as if she’s stolen the air right out of him.

“Where to?” she asks, eyes gleaming in earnest.

Jinyoung smiles, fighting the unbearable urge to take her hand in his, hold her in his arms, and kiss her by way of confession.

_Behave yourself, Jinyoung-ah,_ he chides. _You can’t possibly have what is already taken._

“Your call,” he says. “I’ll go wherever it is your heart wishes to take you.”

“Somewhere close-by, then,” she smiles, scanning the vicinity. “I have another appointment to attend to this afternoon.”

 “Appointment…?” Jinyoung asks, easing hesitantly into the matter.

“Yeah,” she responds, clapping both hands together. “I’m fitting my wedding dress today.”

Without even knowing it, Saeran steps on Jinyoung’s heart and stomps it flat.

_Wedding dress,_ he thinks.

_Right. This girl I’m in love with…_

_She’s getting married in four months’ time._

“Is that so,” Jinyoung whispers, half-adrift in a tunnel of despair. “Congratulations.”

“Stop that,” Saeran laughs, elbowing Jinyoung lightly. “I can tell by the look on your face, you know. You tire of saying those things, even more so than I’ve tired of hearing them.”

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Force of habit.”

Saeran’s eyes flit about him, surveying the locale.

They’re standing at the heart of the Myeongdeong Shopping Street, littered with outlets and boutiques, market stalls and indoor diners. The intersection itself is swamped with visitors, whose faces are buried either in their mobile phones, or are busy browsing through the shops down the road. 

“Say, Soonyoung-ah,” she tells him. “I might know of a place we can hang out.”

She takes him by the hand, unaware of the repercussions.

The voluntary skinship has—as can be expected—an utterly profound effect on Bae Jinyoung.

He recoils, pulling his hand away.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, hurt and confusion flashing in her expression momentarily.

“Sorry, I—“ Jinyoung begins. “That… might be dangerous.”

“Ah,” Saeran exclaims, flashing him a melancholy smile. “I get it. I’ll be more careful.”

She turns around, and Jinyoung follows suit, trailing the path her footsteps have taken. Minutes later, they arrive at a small café, a hole-in-the-wall obscured partly from view by the vast plethora of larger businesses swarming with curious patrons.

 “Over here.”

Through the glass door, Jinyoung sees the whimsical décor and the fanciful set-pieces furnishing the shop’s rustic interior. Laden with flowers, oaken tables, and ornamental greenery, the shop invokes a sense of strange familiarity, wistful nostalgia Jinyoung has long since forgotten.

He realizes he’s been here before.

“Spring Blossom Cafe?” Jinyoung chuckles. “Wow, Saeran-ah. I find myself in constant awe of your astonishing originality. Or lack, thereof.”

“Why complain?” she teases, shoving him gently forwards. “You used to love it here.”

“When we were _seven_ ,” he clarifies. “At that age, we still made bubbles with our mouths for the heck of it.”

 “Back then, they served us custard sugar rolls with piping hot chocolate,” Saeran recalls. “It was funny, now that I remember it. The granules of sugar would stick to your chin because of how messily you scarfed down the food.”

“My mouth is small,” Jinyoung argues. “It happens.”

“And then, you and I drifted apart for about a decade,” Saeran adds. “How is it that you’ve come to track me down, anyway? You can’t have imagined my surprise at the office upon receiving a message from an unknown sender claiming to have known me since we were children.”

Jinyoung fidgets nervously, unsure of what to say next.

_I found your brother’s journal, pages strewn across my desk._

_He left it there by accident—unnamed, unmarked—for what reason, exactly?_

_Only goodness knows what._

_In singling out the owner, I had to utilize my capacities._

_Psychometry: extrasensory perception, the ability to infiltrate someone else’s past, by making physical contact with an associated object._

_And then, I simply… got more than I’d bargained for._

_You. Your job at Sports One, your contact details printed onto your business card._ _As if Daehwi’s journal was yours instead of his._

 “Daehwi,” Jinyoung begins, fiddling with his thumbs uncomfortably. “Has a copy of the latest Yearbook. Your digits were written into the Student Directory.”

Saeran makes an awed expression with her mouth, enlightened by the revelation, untrue as it may be.

 “You and I were destined to reconnect, then,” she laughs. “See? Reminiscence is sweet, every so often.”

She steps into the café, a cheerful attendant greeting her with a smile at the door.

“Good afternoon, madam,” she says. “Welcome to the Spring Blossom Café.”

Both Jinyoung and Saeran bow at her politely.

 “The usual spot?” Jinyoung muses, willing away the disgrace eating slowly into his broken conscience. He gestures to the table farthest from the entrance, nearest to the rear-most window.

“The usual spot,” Saeran agrees, sauntering over to the table, as if to reunite with a long-lost friend. “The scenery’s changed a bit, hasn’t it?”

“Instead of the pawnshop,” Jinyoung muses. “It was a dessert parlour.”

“Remember the bearded, pot-bellied uncle manning the register?” Saeran asks, arranging her skirt before she settles onto the hardwood chair. “He kept on topping our sundae with rainbow sprinkles, even though both of us heavily disliked the taste of them.”

“Still do,” Jinyoung shrugs. “I avoid the shavings from hell like the plague.”

“You know what hasn’t changed?” Saeran smiles, eyes glinting in euphoria. “The view from across the table.”

Jinyoung’s heart flutters into violent motion, skipping in beat two at a time.

Before he can formulate a suitable response, he overhears faint, eager whispering a couple tables down, just as the door to the café creaks audibly open.

“Speak of the devil,” Jinyoung mutters under his breath. “The _actual_ devil.”

“A _dashing_ devil,” Saeran corrects. “I do like that hairstyle on him.”

Saeran waves a hand at their surprise visitor, grinning delightedly from ear to ear.

 “Seongwoo-oppa!” she calls out. “Over here.”

Seongwoo establishes eye-contact with the both of them, eyes darting briefly from one to the other.

“Ahh,” he exclaims. “So _this_ is the person you’ve been meeting behind my back.”

He strolls over to their table, gait exuding confidence, his herringbone trench coat swishing to and fro behind him.

 “Hi there,” he greets. “Bae Soonyoung, am I right?”

_Wrong,_ Jinyoung thinks.

“Right,” he says aloud. “I’m, uhh… a friend of Saeran’s. From childhood.”

“I know,” he says. “She’s mentioned you, once or twice. More than that, actually. More than I care to admit.”

Jinyoung nods curtly, suppressing a frown. His expression turns sour imperceptibly, as though he’s toeing the line between disgust and constipation.

“I could have sworn your name was different though,” Saeran muses. “Was it… Jinseok? Jooyoung?”

Panic rises like bile to Jinyoung’s throat, choking out the words he’s never meant to say.

“You’ve forgotten,” he lies, almost as if duplicity has become second nature. “Twelve years have passed since then, after all.”

“You’re right,” she agrees, rubbing her temple. “Ahh, my head hurts.”

“You alright?” Seongwoo asks, gently stroking her hair. Saeran leans in towards him, resting her fair head of hair against his abdomen.

 “This is why I keep on telling you not to go out and about unnecessarily,” Seongwoo scolds. “Your health is of primary concern these days.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Saeran giggles, burying her face in the folds of Seongwoo’s overcoat. “Soonyoung might think you’ve gotten me pregnant.”

“We get hitched first,” Seongwoo chuckles. “And _then_ we’ll talk.”

He crouches forwards, planting a kiss upon the tip of Saeran’s nose.

Jinyoung’s insides churn like butter, and he is forced to look away from the sight of them.

“I’ll leave you two for the moment,” Seongwoo says then. “I’ve dropped by simply to make sure my fiancée hasn’t been spirited away before our wedding.”

Jinyoung’s left eye twitches indistinctly in vexation.

“No worries,” he says through gritted teeth. “She’s in good hands.”

_Better than yours will ever be, s_ _hould the rumours have any substance to them._

_You’re about marry the love of my life—not for love—but for a diplomatic alliance_.

_Do you want her, even? The way I do._

_And does Saeran want you back?_

“I have an appointment to prepare for myself,” Seongwoo divulges. He turns to Saeran, flashing her a tender smile. “I’ll see you at the fitting, Saeran-ah.”

“Where are you headed to?” she inquires. “Are you arriving home late?”

“More than likely. The Theatre Arts Guild organized a masquerade ball for the Seniors’ Send-off. Funnily enough, I’m the guest of honour.”

“Sounds like fun,” Saeran smiles. She tugs at Seongwoo’s sleeve, pressing a kiss onto his cheek.

“Do prepare well, darling,” she whispers lovingly in his ear. “I’ll wait for you at home.”

“I’ll be there,” he smiles. “Don’t stay up too late.”

The entire time, Jinyoung stares at the floor, pretending as if he’s developed an obscure interest in textile patterning.

“Soonyoung-ah?” Saeran asks, startling him out of his staring competition with the flooring. “Are you alright? You’re looking rather nauseous.”

Jinyoung looks upon her for a while, utterly transfixed.

_Tell me Saeran-ah,_ he thinks. _Why do I love you, of all people?_

_Why do I love at all?_

_Love is magic,_ his father used to say.

_And magic,_ Soonyoung would argue. _Is but a transitory illusion._

_A trick of the eye, a sleight of hand._

_Magic is deceit,_ Jinyoung would agree. _And by extension, so is love._

“I’m fine,” he lies. “I just… I’ve been feeling rather lethargic, lately. I’ve been working on my thesis.”

“Brings back memories,” Saeran says. “Ones I’d like to forget. What’s yours about?”

“The, uhm… origin story of the so-called Legacies. Lately, I’ve been poring through works on the Joseon Alchemist.”

Saeran nods, as if in a trance, eyes glistening with sparks of curiosity.

“If you find out they exist, one day,” she says. “Do tell me. I’d love to meet one before I leave.”

Jinyoung stares out the window, unable to confront the idea of goodbyes.

_Then stay,_ he thinks. _Please._

_But that’s impossible, now. Isn’t it?_

_In four months’ time, you’re leaving for good._

_And that’s why I have to do everything in my power… to keep you close before that happens._

_Truth and integrity be damned._

“I do wish you’d let me know what’s on your mind, a bit more,” Saeran discloses. “I wish you’d let me in, so that whatever it is you have to go through… I could help you.”

“Maybe someday,” Jinyoung says, attempting to deflect the sentimentality. “We aren’t close enough for that to happen.”

“Meanie!” she complains. “Alright, then. We should do this more often.”

That very moment, a waitress arrives at their table, pen and paper in-hand.

“Are you ready to place an order, ma’am?” she asks. “We’re serving Classic Favorites today. They’re on the special menu for the next month and a half.”

Saeran and Jinyoung exchange knowing glances, smiling succinctly to one another.

“Are the custard sugar rolls available, by any chance?” Jinyoung asks.

“You’re in luck,” the waitress nods. “Anything else, sir?”

“Hot Chocolate,” Jinyoung speaks up. “For the both us, please. That would be all.”

After the waitress leaves, Saeran reaches over the table, bonking Jinyoung playfully upside the head.

“Soonyoung-ah,” she whines. “You didn’t ask for my order.”

“I knew what it was,” Jinyoung shrugs. “You’re predictable that way.”

Saeran smiles at him, and for a while they simply sit there, lost in each other’s eyes.

Saeran’s phone buzzes in her pocket, abruptly interrupting the unwonted moment. 

She fishes out the device, staring at the screen.

“I need to take this call, Soonyoung-ah,” she whispers, the earlier expression of cheer contorting succinctly into restless unease. “Excuse me for a while.”

Jinyoung watches her rise gracefully to her feet, walking daintily away from the table.

_Let me know what’s on your mind,_ Jinyoung remembers her saying.

“If I did that, I’d lose you,” he whispers, clenching his fists against the table, before releasing the tension within them, as if to liberate himself from any measure of guilt.

“And honestly, I’d rather die.”

 

***

 

The thing about Lee Daehwi, Jinyoung decides, is that he looks far too similar to Lee Saeran for his own good.

_They could be twins, like Soonyoung and I,_ he thinks. _If only they weren’t five years apart._

“Have you fallen in love with me yet?” Daehwi asks, startling him out of his stupor.

“Excuse me?” Jinyoung demands.

“You’ve been staring at me for the past fifteen seconds,” Daehwi explains. “If I find out you’re a Legacy, and have some perverted ability allowing you see through my clothing, then I swear I’ll—“

Jinyoung scoffs. “Go home, Lee Daehwi. You’re drunk.”

“I _am_ home,” Daehwi whines. “And so are you. We’re roommates, remember?”

He sweeps both hands outwards, an all-encompassing gesture. “And this is the room we live in. _Together.”_

Jinyoung sighs exhaustedly.  “Sometimes, I’d rather forget.”

Daehwi puffs both cheeks out, as if to charm him out of indifference. “Sometimes, I wonder what I’ve done to deserve a roommate colder than the pits of the Antarctic.”

Jinyoung eyes roll in exasperation, far enough backwards into his skull for him to examine the inner workings of his cranium.

He turns in Daehwi’s direction, almost falling backwards onto the duvet.

Daehwi is standing five inches away from him.

_Shit,_ he thinks. S _top looking at me like that._

_Not when the resemblance between you is this frightening._

Daehwi, however, does not stop at all.

They stand there, rooted to the spot, staring each other down for what might’ve been a lifetime and a half.

And then, Daehwi collapses into his arms.

Jinyoung’s heart rattles within him, immersed in suffocating measures of panic.

“Yah…L-Lee Daehwi,” he stammers. “What are you… are you alright?”

He attempts to bear Daehwi’s weight in his arms, shaking at the knees before he fails altogether.

They crash backwards onto his bed, Daehwi falling onto his chest with a thud.

“Ouch,” he exclaims. “That fucking _hurts_.”

He pushes Daehwi away to no avail. “How are you this heavy? _Jesus._ ”

He stares haplessly at the ceiling for about fifteen seconds.

And then, Daehwi rolls sideways, falling onto his back. His head rests against Jinyoung’s right arm, splayed awkwardly across the mountain of pillows.

“You…” Daehwi whispers, eyes opening languorously. “You _have_ fallen in love with me.”

Jinyoung is engulfed in deafening silence, unable to internalize Daehwi’s ludicrous outburst.

“Come again?” he asks. “I don’t think I heard that right, just then.”

“Or at the very least you’re about to,” Daehwi backtracks. “I’m… I’m sure of it.”

“I’d laugh,” Jinyoung deadpans. “But it doesn’t sound as if you’re joking.”

“I’m not. I’m telling the truth.”

“Great,” Jinyoung exclaims, tugging at his arm, pulling it from below Daehwi’s head. He sits up, massaging his neck. “Who are you, the Oracle at Delphi?”

“Might as well be,” Daehwi says, mimicking Jinyoung’s position. “Let me tell you a secret, Soonyoung-ah.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Aren’t you the least bit intrigued?”

“Not exactly,” Jinyoung shrugs. “Why should I be?”

“Because if not… the future will jar you and mess with your head more than it will if you knew what to expect.”

Jinyoung sighs, disbelief flooding through him.

_How can this kid still t_ hink _I’d be interested in him?_

“Before anything else…” Daehwi adds. “I have to make sure this stays a secret between us.”

“Fine, I’ll keep it,” Jinyoung gives in. “If you stop saying things like ‘you’ll fall in love with me’ in the future.”

_No way that’ll ever happen,_ Jinyoung assures himself. _Not when my heart belongs to someone else._

“Remember…” Daehwi begins. “How you keep asking me to have your fortunes read?”

Jinyoung blinks, unsure of the trajectory to their alarming conversation.

“Yeah?” he pries. “I remember. Carry on.”

The truth is, Jinyoung’s twin brother Bae Soonyoung has forced upon him an immense responsibility: to take his place at school, while he sorts out his ‘problems’ elsewhere.

Jinyoung is heedless where these problems are concerned, and neither does he care to find them out in particular; otherwise, he might be dissuaded from doing Soonyoung’s bidding, in finding out how much trouble he’s gotten himself into this time around.

His sole objective in the matter rests in keeping Soonyoung’s predicaments from their father, who is _bound_ to beat him bruised and bloodied should he manage to unearth what Soonyoung’s been up to.

He does it all the time, for the pettiest of reasons. For something this urgent... his father might as well get Bae Soonyoung killed.

Their father, Bae Kiyoung, is away for business in Umeda at the moment, and Soonyoung _insists_ this is a sign that the universe is biding him time to rectify his mistakes before all hell breaks loose upon them. And since Jinyoung has long since given up on university—making a name for himself instead as a white-hat hacker under the alias ‘Deep Dark’, dealing _exclusively_ with high-profile clients—he has enough time on his hands to cover for Soonyoung, whose only observable difference in physical appearance are the mysterious tattoos he has inked onto his forearm, and the gruesome assortment of scars etched onto his back… all of which he’s sustained from their tyrannical father.

And nobody has to find that out.

_Not as long as I’m alive to keep him safe._

_Besides,_ Jinyoung thinks. _This deal ultimately  works out in my favour. Not only is Soonyoung’s academic load as a History major light enough to accomplish in my spare time, but I also have enough of the opportunity to: one, stave off boredom, two, take on client requisitions, and three, deepen my relationship with Daehwi’s older sister._

_I have to be careful,_ he thinks. _If this charade is to sustain itself._

_If I blow my cover before I’m meant to… I might as well kiss Lee Saeran goodbye._

_Or not,_ Jinyoung ponders depressively. _Since she’s taken._

_And kisses are entirely off-limits._

“Just tell me what it is already,” Jinyoung sighs. “I’m listening.”

“You ask me for readings because I do them accurately… right?” Daehwi asks. “You consult me because I’m psychic. _Clairvoyant,_ if you will.

_You are?_ Jinyoung thinks. _How should I know?  Whatever information there is to glean from you, I simply relay to my brother, and then I dismiss all the knowledge after that._

“Uhh, yeah,” he says, not stopping to think of the precise implications. “Your prophecies are, uhm… _surprisingly_ accurate. Almost as if you can _see_ into the future and—“

Jinyoung stops there, puzzle pieces fitting themselves into places they shouldn’t.

“Bingo,” Daehwi whispers, confirming his suspicions. “I _can_ see into the future _._ And the reason is _exactly_ what it is that you’re thinking. _”_

In that moment, Jinyoung wishes for something profound for him to argue, for the capacity to provide an assertion as to why that sort of thing is highly unlikely. Why Legacies aren’t real. Why science has, throughout the course of time, disproven any theory that may be set forth to explain how and why they’ve come to existence.

He longs for the ability to quote in verbatim from his thesis, present one counter-claim after another, as if such thing is enough to ward off the truth he’s known—and _lived—_ for so long.

_My thesis, after all, is but a compilation of historical inaccuracies._

 “Holy shit,” he says instead. “You’re a lunatic.”

“Ouch,” Daehwi exclaims. “That hurts my pride.”

“And what… what does that have to do with me?”

“Just then, when I fainted,” Daehwi explains. “I had a vision. They usually occur in my dreams, but sometimes, they manage to slip past my consciousness into my active, wakeful mind. I’ve gotten in trouble for passing out during lectures, and that happens once my ability goes haywire.”

“And?” Jinyoung says, impatience growing slightly in yearning for Daehwi to cut to the chase. “What did you see while you were blacked out on top of me?”

“A date,” Daehwi whispers, looking into his eyes. “And before the night ends… a confession.”

Daehwi scoots towards him, extending his index finger outwards. He rests it lightly against the bare skin of Jinyoung's chest, at the lowest point of his polo-shirt's neckline. 

“From you,” he whispers, hand moving backwards to point at himself. “To me.”

Jinyoung’s mind zonks out entirely.

“Does that make any sense?” he laughs, more nervously than he’s intended. “You’re in love with _Woojin_ , aren’t you? That’s what I’m here for. To hook you guys up because he and I are partners in Biology, and that—for some confounded reason—renders me the ideal mediator. _The wingman._ Who shall not—I repeat NOT—fall in love with you. ”

“Fair enough,” Daehwi shrugs sadly. “Though we aren’t making progress, Woojin and I. And I happen to think he’s developed a soft spot for _you._ ”

“Year right,” Jinyoung huffs. “He thinks I’m fascinating, because I remind him of a character from a _Shounen Jump_ comic. Not exactly grounds for him to like me, given that he thinks I’m an artificial stencil. And besides…”

_I’m in love with your sister,_ he thinks.

_And have been for years, like an ass, pining for the unreachable._

_Even though she’s engaged to marry perfection, embodied in the one and only Ong Seongwoo._

His temper flares momentarily, recollecting their brazen display of affection.

‘Fuck Ong Seongwoo,” he mutters at random.

“Eh?” Daehwi says. “Ddeongwoo _who_?”

“How am I to know you aren’t lying?” Jinyoung inquires, willing thoughts of this Ddeongwoo away.

“I’ll tell you another secret, then,” Daehwi offers. “I had another dream a couple nights prior.”

Daehwi smiles, eyebrows wiggling at him playfully. “And in about thirty seconds, it’s about to come true.”

“What?” Jinyoung demands.

“I’m sure of it,” Daehwi says, scanning his rumpled appearance. “You were wearing the _exact_ same clothes.”

Jinyoung swallows anxiously, thoroughly unsettled.

_What’s the worst that can happen?_

“Soonyoung-ah,” Daehwi whispers. “I’m going to kiss you. And you’re going to let me.”

“Fuck,” Jinyoung swears. “You _are_ a lunatic.”

And then, in the bat of an eye, this lunatic closes in on him.

And kisses him full on the mouth.

Jinyoung’s world spins out of orbit, his thoughts out of whack.

On his lips are berries and honeysuckle vine, grapefruit juice, and cotton candy.

Daehwi's scent is that of fresh laundry, _addictive,_ almost… an exotic mix of lime and lemongrass, heliotrope and jasmine.

Nothing on earth makes sense any longer.

He is aghast, and upset.

And out of his goddamn mind.

Daehwi pulls away, eyes half-closed.

Jinyoung's mind, rational in thought, is _begging_ for him to come to his senses.

His heart, however, is utterly thrown off-balance.

_Lee Saeran, Lee Daehwi… where am I to draw the line?_

_Are they the same, are they not?_

_And for a kiss this innocent, why should that matter?_

His hands move upwards, taking Daehwi by the shoulders, fully intent upon shoving him away.

Or at the very least, he thinks so.

Instead he closes his eyes, takes Daehwi by the mouth, knots fingers into in his hair… and then pulls him right in.

 

~ACT TWO END~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if you expected a Jinhwi kiss right off the bat, but... well, there you go xD at this point, the kiss is all but genuine in feeling, since neither of them have a romantic interest in the other just yet. The kiss is experimental, meant to prove a point... but it's still a kiss nonetheless! I enjoyed writing that ahaha. And do forgive me for being one day late in uploading. I was distracted by the controversy yesterday and couldn't bring myself to even type in a single word. But I'm here now! I hope you enjoyed it~ 
> 
> As always, feel free to yell at me on Twitter (@lilicadearest)! Anyway, I'll see you next time! Bubye :3


	4. ACT THREE. VICISSITUDE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vissicitude. /vəˈsisəˌt(y)o͞od/. noun. A chance of circumstances or fortune, typically one that is unwelcome or unpleasant.

Daniel is no fun at parties.

He thinks them a waste of time and money, little more than a lousy excuse to fool around, set homework aside, and roll out of bed the next day with an oppressive headache, no recollection of the night before, and a stranger passed out underneath the comforter.

Who, by the way, is alarmingly _naked_.

Not that Daniel can speak from experience, or anything.

The only other thing he despises, a trifling smidgen more than parties: _blind dates._

And his impulsive bypass of yet another set-up is the _only_ reason why he’s acquired himself a phantom mask and an angelic ensemble, having taken painstaking measures to brainwash Jisung into thinking parties more productive than blind dates. These affairs, at best, were staring contests spent in god-awful silence, and at worst, were infernal disasters during which potential wives—having been confronted with rejection—pelted him with cuss words or declared him a waste of their time, before chucking the remainder of their champagne down his shirt, and _then_ marching out the front door.

This was detrimental both to his immaculate clothing, and to the over-priced bottle of _Dom Perignon._

Come to think of it, Jisung might be proud— _appreciative,_ even—of Daniel’s spur-of-the-moment decision to attend the Seniors’ Send-off, given his reputation for active avoidance of human contact. However, more than getting forced into unruly, crowded spaces, Daniel detests the idea of sitting through another one of Jisung’s lectures on his disappointing behaviour should he attempt another bail-out in spite of his exceptionally relaxed agenda.

_This is your fault, Ong Seongwoo,_ he thinks. _If you weren’t spineless enough to readily accept marriage for the sake of politics, I wouldn’t even have to deal with this predicament in the first place._

“I’m almost done,” Daehwi announces, styling his hair into a perfect coif. “Just a splash more colour on the eyes and lips, and I think you’re good to go.”

Daniel nods, scrutinizing his reflection in the mirror as Daehwi taps lightly at his cheek with a powder puff. Not for the first time does he wish he’s learnt to do his own makeup, even though he’s sure that— given the subtle intricacies of Daehwi’s artistry— he’s bound to make himself look either like a _geisha_ or a life-sized _matryoshka_ doll.

“I haven’t even gotten to the venue, and I’m already regretting this,” Daniel admits. “Curse Jisung and his uncanny propensity for figuring out my exact coordinates.”

“How does he do that?” Daehwi wonders aloud. “He seems to be in perfect control of your activities, knowing where you are and what you’re up to all the time.”

Daniel shrugs, sighing discontentedly. “If I’d known, I’d have already taken action. Now my throat is parched from having to explain why I’m against the idea of marriage.”

_In the first place, I’d have to be interested in women._

_And that is quite lamentably not the case, at all._

Daehwi leans in towards him slightly, dusting shadows of rose-gold into his crease. “He must have his secrets. All of us do.”

“What’s your secret, then?” Daniel pries.

“Mine?” Daehwi smirks. “I kissed a boy this afternoon.”

Daniel’s eyes widen into full-on saucers. “You WHAT? Has Park Woojin _confessed_ to you?”

Daehwi shakes his head dejectedly.

“I didn’t get to kiss him,” Daehwi says, forehead creasing slightly in distress. “It was, uhm… my _roommate._ But I saw the kiss in my visions, and… you know what happens when I go _against_ the visions, right?”

Daniel nods. _Yeah. The unspeakable._

“Your abilities are useless,” he complains. “You see the future, and yet… should the visions turn ominous, you aren’t meant to avert them or alter them slightly, without the universe turning its back on you in return.”

“I envy Jisung the practicality of his,” Daehwi admits. “Though we aren’t sure if he _has_ one, to begin with.”

“Could be Mind Reading,” Daniel supposes. “Even though mine is, too. But I’m hardly impertinent enough to poke into his business. And even then, I’d never have the courage enough to ask him if he’s…”

“A Legacy?” Daehwi continues. “Possibly. Nothing in this world will surprise me, anymore.”

“Either way,” Daniel sighs. “I read through _his_ mind a couple of weeks ago. Turns out he has another blind date in the works…. my thirty-third in five months. Un-freaking-believable. And it isn’t as if I can _lie_ my way out of this plight. He knows, somehow, and it drives him nuts. Can’t blame him, though… he’ll find himself at the tail-end of father’s wrath, should I resolve to mishandle the arrangement on purpose.”

“What _is he_ to you, anyway?” Daehwi asks. “Yoon Jisung. I thought you were best friends, and nothing more.”

“Haven’t I mentioned this?” Daniel blinks. “Apart from being my roommate, he’s also my bodyguard, assistant… and these days, my personal matchmaker. His family’s been in service to mine for generations.”

“Interesting,” Daehwi muses. “And why is your father insistent upon marrying you off? You’re twenty-three, in graduate school, and have your entire life ahead of you. Why force you into settling down and rearing children?”

Daniel reaches over the vanity for his caramel macchiato, sipping at the drink contemptuously, daintily enough for his lip-tint not to transfer messily onto the straw.

“Dad’s competitive, that’s why. And I’m unsure if you care enough for campus chitchat to know this, but… Ong Seongwoo is getting married in July. Be that as it may, I did presume it an unfounded hoax for the longest time, given his top-star standing… until the news reached mainstream media, and finally dad’s ears, and now he’s relentless in pursuit of a daughter-in-law more beautiful and accomplished than Sports One’s Lee Saeran.”

“Ahh,” Daehwi exclaims. “Well, _of course_ I’ve heard of this. Believe it or not, Seongwoo's marrying my sister.”

Daniel almost chokes on his beverage. “YOUR SISTER?”

“You’ve never seen her have you?” Daehwi guesses. “Otherwise, you’d have known we were related. She looks _exactly_ like I would, if I had a wig and some lipstick on.”

Daniel grimaces, unable to digest the imagery. “Somehow, the thought of that scares me.”

“Let me get this straight, then,” Daehwi says once-and-for-all. “Your family’s gone head-to-head with Seongwoo’s for years, being two of the wealthiest, most powerful real estate conglomerates in Seoul. And because the heir to the Ong fortune is getting married to an up-and-coming influencer, your father is now implacable in desiring the _exact_ same for you. Perhaps even better, now that you’ve mentioned it.”

Daniel nods, the burden of commitment weighing him down.

“I want my family to rise to the top,” Daniel confesses. “For my father to attain everything he’s dreamt of. He’s worked harder than anyone else, fighting tooth and nail for the attention of investors, just to get our business started, and our name out into the world. He’s built the company from the ground up, and I want to help him maintain everything he’s endured and struggled for.”

Daniel squeezes his cup of coffee at the base, a paltry attempt at relieving some tension.

“I just… I don’t understand why filial piety and authentic love have to be dealt with as mutually exclusive.”

_Can’t I be a dutiful son, without marrying for power?_

“Stop fidgeting too much,” Daehwi says. “Otherwise, I’ll end up poking your eye out with the liner brush.”

“I won’t mind,” Daniel mutters. “I’m tired of opening my eyes to a bleak world in which I’ve volunteered attendance to a massive social gathering. Sporting a get-up this ludicrous, to boot.”

“Nonsense,” Daehwi smiles. “You look amazing.”

Daniel stares his reflection down, silk shirt unbuttoned, leather boots polished to a shine, jeans ripped in places utterly inessential, including—much to Daniel’s chagrin—almost the entirety of his right thigh.

“You sure about this?” Daniel asks, biting his lower lip nervously.

“You’ll arrive in a mask,” Daehwi reminds him. “And by virtue of how stylishly I’ve arranged your hair, you’re almost entirely unrecognizable. Seriously… why keep your handsome face concealed by your fringe half the time? If you fix the hairdo, replace the broken spectacles, and stop arriving to class in shaggy, worn-out t-shirts coming undone at the seams… you might embody the notion of ‘Kang Daniel’ even better, who, _may I remind you,_ is the scion to a colossal fortune, and not a Samoyed pup that hasn’t bathed in weeks.”

“That’s harsh, Daehwi-ya,” Daniel scolds. “Wait ‘til my father hears about this.”

“How frightening,” Daehwi teases. “I’ll do my level best not to displease you in the future.”

Daniel pokes at his tummy, causing Daehwi to erupt into giggles.

Tough as it may be to admit, however, Daehwi does have a point where his appearance is concerned. For the most part, he endeavours to effectively downplay his visuals in order to detach the ‘billionare’ image from his character; not only does this aid in low-profile maintenance, but this also delivers him from the strain of having to entertain even _more_ women he’d rather not deal with.

“You’re all set,” Daehwi declares, clapping both hands gleefully together. He walks towards Daniel's cabinet, where a pair of snowy, seraphic wings are sitting. “Now, how about we show up at the party, and sweep some mystery man off of his feet?”

Daniel laughs, thinking the notion of such thing marginally superior to any such blind-date at hand.

“That,” he agrees. “Sounds like a plan.”

 

***

 

As can be expected, the site of the affair is a riot. Dozens of party-goers are dancing around in circles, and the strobe lights, spinning in dizzying spheres at inconstant degrees of luminescence, are starting to give Daniel a bothersome migraine.

The worst part, however, is that five times since his arrival twenty-five minutes ago, a grand total of seventeen strangers—male and female alike—have already tried their hand at what, all things considered, Daniel can only think of as incompetent flirtation.

There are a multitude of ways by which one can say ‘no thank you’, ‘I’m not interested’,  or ‘sorry, but get the fuck out of my face’, and Daniel is finding it increasingly vexatious to have to repeat himself over and over again.

Overall, Daniel wishes he’d gone for the blind date instead.

At least that way, he wouldn’t be so disoriented, not only because of the rampageous atmosphere, but also because he won’t have to _hear_ involuntarily into the thoughts of other people, whose state of affairs he neither cares about nor thinks is relevant to his well-being in general.

The other reason why Daniel dislikes crowded spaces: the more people there are in proximate distance, the less he is able to shut their inner voices out.

He searches out an empty corner of the hall, zoning in on the lounge where the alcohol is served. The night is young yet, and as such the bar is empty of any such clientele, most of whom would rather mingle and hit the dance floor, instead of challenging liquor before they pass out drunk.

He navigates a treacherous path through the ruckus, keeping himself in perfect restraint lest he shove a party-goer out of the way.

“Anything I can get you?” The barista offers. He dons a mask himself, one Daniel distinguishes as the protagonist from an animated film he’s seen in childhood.

“Is that from _Hotarubi?”_ he inquires, unsure of why he bothered to strike up a conversation.

_The boredom is pushing me out of the boundaries of sanity,_ he thinks. _That’s why._

“Oh?” the barista remarks. “You’ve heard of that, too? Ah, I’m Park Woojin, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”

Daniel’s ears perk up momentarily. _Woojin? Daehwi’s Woojin?_

“I’m, uhh… Euigyeon,” Daniel says, utilizing his name at birth in order to fuel the exchange out of meddlesome curiosity. “How’d you stumble upon the film, if I may ask?”

“It’s a long-standing favourite of mine,” Woojin replies. “Opens jaded lovers to the reality that not every story ends in happily ever after.”

“Right,” Daniel agrees. “Some of them end with the love interest disappearing from the protagonist’s life altogether, because of a mistake they didn’t know they were making, no matter how dignified the intent.”

“Tragic,” Woojin clucks. “That’s how it all plays out in _Hotarubi._ I thought it a waste of precious time, at first. I didn’t spend an hour getting emotionally attached to all these characters, just to witness them wind up in heartbreak. _”_

“Trust me,” Daniel says. “I’m no director by any means, but I’m sure ‘happiness’ wasn’t the point of that show. It was in the relationship Gin sought to sustain with Hotaru, despite the obstacles marring his path, beginning with the fact that he couldn’t even _touch_ her. It was about surrender, and sacrifice… the ultimate gesture of love.”

“It might also be,” another voice speaks up from behind. “About how life is cruel, and heartless enough, to wipe anyone out of existence before you have the chance to tell them you’re sorry, or that you love them, or that you wish you didn’t have to say goodbye.”

Daniel’s performs an about-face, his barstool swivelling slightly off-kilter.

He comes face-to-face with a demon in red, whose countenance—save for his mouth—is cloaked entirely by a frightening mask.

“It’s why I believe we should cherish every moment,” the stranger carries on. “Live it, meaningfully and well, as if it’s our last. Because it very well may be, expect it or not.”

Daniel finds himself entranced by the stranger’s singsong voice, unable to peel his eyes away from his lips as they move.

"Are you alright?" the stranger inquires, head cocking to the side. "You were about to fall off your chair."

_Who are you?_ Daniel thinks. _Tell me your name._

_Who are you?_ The stranger thinks back. _And how come I find you beautiful, despite being faceless?_

The moment he taps into the stranger’s thoughts, Daniel finds himself grateful for two different things: One, the fact that he can read into minds. And two, the fact that he’s wearing a mask, which means the stranger won’t know how profoundly he’s blushing.

“You’re right,” Daniel nods. “Interpreting things that way works, too. And I'm fine, thank you for asking.”

_Ahh, even your voice sounds like honey,_ Daniel hears him think. _If I kiss you where you stand, shall I know what that tastes like?_

‘Isn’t it that the world’s most critically-acclaimed love story is a tragedy?” he says instead. “I happen to think it’s a masterpiece.”

_It’s a masterpiece, and so are you_. _One day I might hope to hear your story, too._

The stranger smiles, oblivious to the fact that Daniel knows what he’s thinking.

_Fuck,_ Daniel thinks to himself. _He’s flirting with me, even though he’s not._

_Why am I not mad about this?_

_At the very least, he hasn’t breached into my space… a perfect gentleman, perhaps?_

_And here I was thinking they’d gone extinct decades ago._

“You’re referring to ‘Romeo and Juliet’?” Daniel asks. “It _is_ a tragedy, in a technical sense… but where the plotlines are concerned, it isn’t as tragic as one might come to believe.”

“Oh?” the stranger in red exclaims.

_Enlighten me, Angel of Death._

_What could be more tragic than death itself?_

Daniel smiles, thoroughly enjoying the unplanned discourse.

_Finally,_ he thinks. _Someone appreciative of classical literature._

“They were victims,” Daniel begins. “Of forces beyond their control. Neither Romeo nor Juliet have ‘fatal flaws’ in the sense that Macbeth had his thirst for success, or Othello his crippling envy. They were ignorant, yes. Inexperienced, naïve, above all hasty in declaring their love. But their ruin—and ultimately their death—was the direct aftermath of their families’ greed. Their desire to sit upon the throne of power.”

“Doesn’t that make this more a tragedy than anything else, then?”

_I should know,_ the stranger thinks. _Their tragedy is mine, too._

_Greed, avarice, a thirst for excess._

_The very downfall of mankind, though he fails to acknowledge it._

Daniel stares at him for a long while, jolted by the depth of his internal ruminations.

These types of men were a dime a dozen, and should anyone ask him where he’d expect to meet one of them, a party this opulent would _for sure_ be dead last. 

“Not a tragedy,” Daniel shakes his head. “If you think of how they didn’t bring about their own demise, in the end. And in death… they were reunited. It was the only way by which they could love, unchallenged, unopposed… forever, in the afterlife. Should one believe such a place exists.”

“And through their noble sacrifice,” the stranger continues. “They mended the wounds that tore apart the Montagues and Capulets for generations past. It was their ultimate victory. Their _legacy_ , so to speak.”

“Exactly,” Daniel agrees. “Their love that triumphed, even after death.”

_Beautiful,_ he hears the stranger think. _Both you, and their story alike._

“Whiskey on the rocks, please,” the stranger requests, reminding Daniel of the fact that Woojin was, in fact, still standing right there.

Woojin has the whiskey at the ready somehow.

“Here you go,” the stranger says, offering the glass to Daniel. “As thanks for humouring me with your wisdom. I’d say it’s on the house, but I’m not the barista.”

“Certainly _not_ on the house,” Woojin laughs. “We’re in a crisis, you know. I have to make a living.”

“It’s on me, then,” the stranger says, slapping a couple of bills onto the table. “I know of no other way to thank you.”

_Tell me how, dearest angel._

_Before I come to my senses._

Daniel stares into his eyes, sure he’s seen them somewhere before.

He ransacks the stranger’s thoughts, on a wild-goose chase after his inscrutable identity.

He comes up empty, twenty seconds later.

 “If you could find me a way out of this place,” Daniel says instead. “I’d be far more thankful for that.”

“Is that so?” the stranger says, smiling until dimples surface by the sides of his cheeks. “Then it’s your lucky night, dearest angel. I know just the place.”

 

***

 

“I had no idea this building had a balcony.”

“Most people don’t,” the stranger says. “Balconies are rare in architecture this modern.”

“I see. I wonder how you found access to this place, then. It’s deserted.”

“I own the building,” he says. “That’s how.”

Daniel blinks, unsure of having heard the explanation correctly. “Excuse me?”

“Would you believe in me if I told you that?”

The stranger turns to him, meeting his gaze. Daniel feels a slight pang at the base of his chest, guilt flooding through him for having infringed upon thoughts not his own.

_If I read into them any further, I may encroach into secrets I have nothing to do with._

_I can’t do that._

_Not to him._

His gaze falls to the floor, eyes squeezing shut.

Willing his abilities away.

“Perhaps,” Daniel whispers. “Perhaps not. Either way, it won’t matter to me.”

“Most people would find it an honour,” the stranger smiles. “To meet someone affluent enough to own a building.”

“Not sure if you can tell,” Daniel shrugs. “But I am not, in fact, most people. And neither do I care about your money. Whether you have it or not... I like you, already.”

Daniel swallows, unsure of what’s compelled him to say something so bold.

_It’s the mask,_ he decides. _It’s more convenient than I’ve given it credit for._

The stranger reaches out to him then, shattering Daniel’s composure.

_Be careful,_ the stranger thinks, letting himself be heard in Daniel’s moment of weakness.

_Those words of yours are dangerous._

_And most regrettably… so am I._

“I meant it as a person,” Daniel clarifies. “I like you as a person. As most people do, I take it.”

 “I thought you weren’t ‘most people’?” the stranger chuckles, hand coming to rest upon Daniel’s shoulder, an offshoot of sparks making Daniel’s spine tingle. “I do like you, too. _As a person._ And most people aren’t as well-versed in Shakespeare as you are.”

“I major in English Literature,” Daniel explains. “I’d drop out of the course otherwise.”

“Why have you entered into that field? It’s rather uncommon.”

“It’s my first love. Literature, I mean. I’d marry it if I could.”

_And besides, the degree is inconsequential._

_I’ve been groomed into my father’s likeness since I could talk._

_I’m following in his footsteps, taking over the company._

_Might as well embrace my own passions… before it’s too late._

“I’d marry my first love, too,” the stranger admits. “But sadly… that’s no longer possible.”

Daniel’s hands fist at his sides, forcing his intrusive abilities away to no avail.

_I’d marry for love,_ the stranger thinks. _Or not marry at all._

_That’s where Romeo and Juliet were lucky. To the bitter end, they had each other._

_And yet I, after tonight… may disappear from your life forever, and likewise, you from mine._

_As Gin disappeared from Hotaru’s._

His hand moves from Daniel’s shoulder to his face, tugging lightly at his mask as if to tear it away.

_Unless I find out… what hides underneath._

_Who are you, dearest angel? Who are you, to capture my heart this way?_

He steps forwards in the blink of an eye, resting his head against Daniel’s shoulder.

It takes all of Daniel’s strength not to ignite on the spot.

 “I’m tired,” the stranger whispers. “Let me stay here awhile. I won’t ask you for anything else.”

“Not even for my mask to come off?” Daniel asks.

“I fear that if I ask it from you,” he says, arms encircling Daniel’s waist. “You’d ask the same of me, too.”

“What else am I supposed to do?”

“Talk.”

“About?”

“Anything,” he says. “Yourself, for example.”

“I’m not that interesting.”

“Let me ask you a question, then.” The stranger offers instead. “Would that be alright?”

“Of course. You don’t know who I am, anyway. And after tonight… we may never meet again. What exactly have I to lose?”

_I lose nothing_ , his mind reasons out.

_I lose you,_ his heart reasons in return.

Daniel clutches at his chest, sating pinpricks of pain he can’t quite diagnose the source of.

“Would you marry for love,” the stranger asks. “Against your parents’ wishes?”

Daniel stiffens, the stranger’s inquiry hitting home, harmless though it may be.

“It takes… a certain amount of courage,” he whispers. “To do so bold a thing. And should my parents be so inclined… they could disown me. Curse me for the rest of their lives. Tell me I’m ungrateful for paying back their love with disobedience.”

“Does that mean you won’t do it?”

_No,_ Daniel thinks.

_It means I’d have to help them see the light._

“I’ll do it,” he whispers, hands moving upwards, of their own volition, embracing the demon in red and holding him close.

“I’ll marry for love,” he says, quoting directly from the stranger’s thoughts. “I’d marry for love, or not marry at all.”

For a moment they stand there, under the eerie cast of moonlight, wrapped in each other’s arms.

_I want to kiss you,_ the stranger thinks. _But I can’t._

_Not as long as I am who am I am._

_Not as long as I'm with who I'm with._

_Not as long as you and I have these masks on._

“You want to know who I am,” Daniel whispers. “Don’t you?”

The stranger pulls away gently, probing his expression for meaning. “How come you know that?”

Daniel stares back, smiling gently at him.

 “I just do,” he says. “I just know. The same way I know that you’ve been meaning to kiss me.”

The demon in red smiles back.

“As for kissing," he whispers. "That remains to be said. But you're right. I do want that mask come undone.”

Daniel nods. 

"You want it come undone," he whispers.

And then, it does.

Daniel tugs at the strings, tearing his angelic disguise away.

The mask falls to his feet with a clatter.

But instead of kissing him, the stranger recoils.

Traces of dread flash through his visage, as if he’s come face-to-face with the Grim Reaper himself.

“Do you… do you know who I am?” Daniel stammers, panicking inwardly.

The stranger spends the next twenty seconds looking him up and down, mouth widening progressively until his jaw goes slack in consternation.

“You,” he whispers, letting loose a nervous laugh. “You really are the Angel of Death.”

Daniel blinks, reproaching his brazen decision to succumb to the vulnerability of exposure.

_What were you thinking, Kang Daniel?_

_Why relieve yourself of the mask altogether?_

_In your heart of hearts... did you wish for him to know?_

_Did you wish for a way by which this demon can find you?_

“What..." Daniel stutters. "What exactly do you mean by that?”

_And who exactly are you?_

_Why not tell me?_

_Why not think?_

“Not all stories,” the stranger recants. “End in ‘happily ever after’.”

He takes one step forwards, crossing the distance between them.

And then, he leans slightly into Daniel’s space, pressing a kiss onto his forehead until it burns from within.

“Yours and mine, for example,” he whispers. “Shall we dare to fall in love… is to culminate in tragedy, a fate _far_ worse than death.”

_So pick your poison, Kang Daniel._

_Fall in love with me, and walk into ruin._

_Or walk away from me, and lose me for good._

Daniel turns the stranger’s words in his head, unable to fathom the implications, unable to decipher the correct interpretation.

He knows, however, that as long as he remains his father’s son… walking himself into ruin is damn near impossible.

And thus, awash in regret, and replete with despair, Kang Daniel turns himself around.

And walks away from the demon.

 

 

~ACT THREE END~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the Ongniel chapter! I hope you enjoy it~ And I know I didn't explicitly mention that the demon in red was Seongwoo (because Niel here doesn't know that) but it is him. As a character he might be confusing, because you know him as engaged to someone else, but without spoling anything important, I'll let you know that Seongwoo and Saeran are not, in fact, in love with each other. They're getting married because of a strategic alliance between their families, and I'll dig into that further into Chapter 6. But I hope this chapter, vague as it may be, was still interesting to you! And I hope I didn't bore you will all the talk of Shakespeare. I personally love Romeo and Juliet, and since Dan is an English Literature major, I thought it appropriate for him to love it as I do.
> 
> But that's it for now, see you when I see you~
> 
> Some pertinent links, if you wanna get to know me!
> 
> Twitter: [@lilicadearest](https://twitter.com/lilicadearest)
> 
> Curiouscat: [lilicadearest](https://curiouscat.me/lilicadearest) (I haven't used this one but it might be useful if you want to ask me questions anonymously lol)

**Author's Note:**

> Let me apologize for posting the Foreword and Prologue without having accomplished ANY of the actual chapters T^T However, the poster for this story arrived early, and I do have a deadline for picking it up, so there you have it xD I also thought it would be nice to give you guys a brief background into these characters, so that you can read the full-length chapters in greater context :D 
> 
> And I'm not sure if you guys have noticed based on the preview... but the stories are based (albeit loosely) upon popular Shakespeare novels and plays. 
> 
> Panwink - The Taming of the Shrew  
> Jinhwi - Twelfth Night  
> Ongniel - Romeo and Juliet
> 
> For those of you panicking: NO, I'm not interested in writing Ongniel into a tragedy wherein the both of them die at their prime (because I'm not that cruel. You're welcome). And since the story has fantastical elements, in that everyone has a specific ability, I guess one can say that this story is 'Wanna One meets Alice Academy meets Classic Literature' with a twist. As you can tell, my imagination has run wild in sprouting curious by-products in the form of writing. But that's it for this update! See you in Chapter 1 sometime this week (and yes, this time I around, all three ships are present in every single one), or alternatively, in Chapter 19 of my other work. 
> 
> For now, catch you guys later~


End file.
